


Results Don't Count

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Atsushi calls him corny as hell sometimes, and it’s probably true, but they’re all thinking it to some degree.





	Results Don't Count

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of a mess 
> 
> desert hockey au (yotes kagahimu, vgk aomura)

This is as close as they’re getting to a real roster before the season opener, the last game of the preseason, rolling three-plus lines and two and a half pairs and the starting goalie on both ends. They’ve already played Vegas twice, but this is the first time they’re going to get three periods of Atsushi in goal, and Taiga can’t say he’s not looking forward to it. A couple of the rookies are looking a little nervous, clustering close together; Tatsuya knocks them on their helmets and it seems to get them to relax a little bit.

It’s the preseason; rivalry or no the game’s probably not sold out. It doesn’t matter; Taiga would play in an empty arena or some overfilled outdoor football stadium or anywhere, really, if it meant playing with the people he loves (Atsushi calls him corny as hell sometimes, and it’s probably true, but they’re all thinking it to some degree). And it’s exciting, even if it doesn’t mean shit, the thought of skating to the dot to take a faceoff across from Daiki, winning the puck and all that clean open ice—God.

Tatsuya catches his eye and smiles, returns to retaping his stick (once before warmups, once before each period for every stick he’s used—Taiga used to tell him to think about the waste, but Tatsuya would tell him that it works, and if it makes him feel better, well, Taiga’s got superstitions of his own, knocking his hand against the wall in the tunnel, double-knotting his skates only after he gets out on the ice.

“Ready?” says Tatsuya.

“Only if you are,” says Taiga.

“I’m always ready.”

(He is, in their yard in Phoenix, going out there on roller blades in the morning and Taiga waking up to an empty bed and coffee still warm enough in the pot, dirty dishes in the sink and Tatsuya out there taking slapper after slapper, before it gets too hot. Here, on the ice, muscle memory pulling him into the backcheck the same instant his mind registers they’ve lost the puck.)

* * *

The ice is gorgeous; for a second it seems like a shame that they’re going to be tearing it up with the blades of their skates (sure, it’s scratched up from the brief skate-around but you can barely see it). That’s hockey; it’s never clean and that’s a small price to pay, especially when Taiga considers it alongside the bruises that line their skin like oil spills on the side of the highway, black and blue and green and yellow, one fading into the next. A little bit like the colors on the Vegas uniforms, if Taiga’s feeling like chirping them.

He’s about to, skating up the ice to the dot, and then he sees Daiki, twirling his stick in his hand, hair sticking out of the end of his helmet (it’s getting too long). He’d just seen him in warmups, before that this morning in his and Atsushi’s place here, but there’s something about the way he’s coasting along the ice, the white gloves that are definitely closer to grey but he won’t swap them out, the grin on his face flicking from Taiga to Tatsuya.

Tatsuya stick taps the back of Taiga’s calf; he doesn’t laugh out loud but Taiga’s absolutely certain he’s smiling. There’s a lot to smile about, though; Taiga cocks an eyebrow at Daiki as he bends over the dot and Daiki can’t really keep cool, either.

* * *

All the team’s excess energy still has nowhere to go; they crash the net and get stonewalled by Atsushi and Taiga’s got four shots already but this combination of pride and frustration, so unique to playing against Atsushi, is rising inside of him, drawing from his adrenaline rush but fueling it even more. Tatsuya’s the same, snappier passes, aggressive backchecks, and he’s starting to seriously piss off Daiki’s rookie wing, Collins. He looks like he’s jonesing for a fight, and maybe that’s not Tatsuya’s main goal, but it’s the preseason and Tatsuya’s been good lately, checking as hard as usual but not staying back to jaw too much with the opposition, not taking too much of their bait.

Collins is quick, but they don’t teach you how to slew foot anywhere, and his attempt on Taiga is pretty bad—he throws Taiga off-balance, but he doesn’t fall to the ice; he almost crashes into Daiki but steadies himself and turns before he lands against the end boards, just in time to see Tatsuya break, spraying snow on Atsushi, and barking something at Collins.

Their gloves snap off; Taiga sees Tatsuya’s hand only for a second before it’s fisted in Collins’s jersey, but at this point everyone’s gotten down there, the linesmen circling around the fight like MRI cameras.

“You okay?” Daiki says, bumping Taiga’s shoulder.

Taiga hip-checks him back; a couple of the other guys are talking and shoving at each other but this isn’t going to turn into anything more—not when Tatsuya lands a right hook on Collins’s jaw and he falls to the ice, pulling Tatsuya down on top of him.

“Jesus,” Daiki mutters. “He’s not playing easy.”

Taiga snorts (as if Tatsuya ever would).

“Saves me the trouble of hitting my own teammate, though,” Daiki mutters.

“I’m fine,” says Taiga, skating over to pick up Tatsuya’s stick. Daiki trails after him to the box, pretending he’s only there to talk to one of the officials about penalty assessments.

* * *

“I didn’t see you defending me when Tatsuya sprayed snow on me,” says Atsushi.

“I’m sorry,” says Tatsuya, with a smile on his face that clearly means he’s not.

Atsushi huffs, and Daiki shrugs. “You can defend yourself.”

“So can Taiga,” says Atsushi.

“What are you saying, huh?” says Taiga.

“Nothing,” says Atsushi.

“Don’t forget I’m driving you back,” says Daiki.

He wraps his hand around Atsushi’s on the console, though; Taiga decides he’s going to ignore the way Atsushi pushes the seat all the way back for right now and just slide over to the middle, closer to Tatsuya. His knuckles are a little bit red from the fight, and out of the moment it’s too easy to think of him on the receiving end of a punch like that, his own jaw swollen, black eye, bleeding face. It doesn’t happen too often; Tatsuya’s lucky and careful (as much as anyone can be when they fight that much). Tatsuya reaches up his hand to brush Taiga’s face, curl his fingers in Taiga’s hair.

They’re all feeling pretty drained by the time they get in; Daiki hugs Tatsuya around the waist and murmurs a congratulation for his goal; Atsushi looks like he’s about to start sulking again so Taiga slips an arm around his waist. Atsushi looks down at him, as if deciding where to start his argument.

“You guys got lucky on that goal.”

“We make our own luck,” says Taiga.

Atsushi sighs, and then leans down to kiss him, probably more to shut him up than anything else, but the result’s the same.


End file.
